


Animal, Lover

by fairmanor



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Angry Sex, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Pre-Roses Schitt's Creek, Rare Pairing, Rarepair, Ted REALLY hates Dr. Miguel, blind dates, this is the stupidest thing i've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:54:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26366023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairmanor/pseuds/fairmanor
Summary: “Miguel?” Ted says, his voice deepening into a snarl at the right time to finish off the name with the amount of scorn it deserves.No way is this happening.No way is this happening.He scans the bar quickly, looking out for another potential date, but is greeted only by the sight of the same three men playing cards and the same two women singing raucously as he was when he got here.“Ted,” Miguel spits back, moving to extend a hand for Ted to shake but then apparently changing his mind at the last minute and shoving it back in his pocket. Luckily for him, Ted wasn’t going to take it anyway.*Okay, hear me out. They've definitely fucked before.
Relationships: Theodore "Ted" Mullens/Dr. Miguel
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	Animal, Lover

**Author's Note:**

> \- Apparently I can only write PWP/entirely smutty fics if they're absolutely ridiculous and cringey. So here you go, you get what you're given.
> 
> \- In this absolutely not-canon world, this takes place a couple of months before the Roses land in Schitt's Creek, so 2015.
> 
> \- This is terrible and I fully embrace that.

Ted looks down at his phone yet again. If he sighs once more, then he thinks he might completely run out of breath in his body.

Sitting alone at the bar in the Wobbly Elm, which is characteristically sparse, he feels like a complete loser. A couple of days ago, he’d let Twyla convince him to download another version of Bumpkin on his phone – this particular dating app was called Skedaddle, and did everything that Bumpkin did except blindly. Ted doesn’t know the name, age, occupation or even the gender of the person he’d shot off some generic questions to the other day, for that was the point of the app. He was ready to meet this person, get the date over with and then skedaddle out of their room the next morning.

With that thought resting uncomfortably in the back of his throat, Ted knocks back the rest of his beer. It’s pale and cheap and lukewarm, but it still makes him splutter. He slams the glass back down onto the table and brings a fist to his mouth, coughing, grateful that the grizzled old patrons are either too deaf or uncaring to notice his slip.

And if he hadn’t come back to his senses when he stopped spluttering, then the sight in front of him would have shoved the sense back into him with all the force of a freight train.

No.

No, that –

It can’t be.

“Miguel?” Ted says, his voice deepening into a snarl at the right time to finish off the name with the amount of scorn it deserves.

No way is this happening.

No _way_ is this happening.

He scans the bar quickly, looking out for another potential date, but is greeted only by the sight of the same three men playing cards and the same two women singing raucously as he was when he got here.

“Ted,” Miguel spits back, moving to extend a hand for Ted to shake but then apparently changing his mind at the last minute and shoving it back in his pocket. Luckily for him, Ted wasn’t going to take it anyway.

Miguel. Fucking _Miguel_. Ted cringes at the swoop of his hair and his dark, long-lashed gaze that’s equal parts blazing hot and frigidly cold. Against his will and better judgement, the cringe grows into something warm and shoots straight to his groin.

Miguel sits down and orders some drinks. Ted ignores the gesture.

“So, Miguel,” he says, “desecrate any innocent animals lately?”

Miguel sneers at him. “If you’re referring to my efficient advertising techniques, then the answer is yes.”

Ted scoffs, almost snatching his beer when it arrives before shooting an apologetic glance to the bartender.

“So we’re doing this, then?”

“What?” Ted snaps.

“You took the drink I got you. I’m assuming that means you still want to go ahead with the date?”

Ted glares daggers at Miguel for as long as he can before pure disgust drives his gaze away.

“I wouldn’t turn down a free drink. It’s, um…” he gestures towards the two shots of liquor Miguel has placed down in front of him on the bar, hating himself for what he’s about to say, “it’s _worth a shot.”_

“You’re insufferable.” They clink their shots together forcefully and down them, wincing.

After a few more moments of heated silence, they cool off a little and Miguel clears his throat as though to shift the awkwardness that’s settled between them.

“So. I don’t suppose you came all prepared with some little questions on cue cards, did you? That would be typical.”

Ted flushes. “No,” he sulks, pulling his cue cards out of his pocket. If his date had been someone nice, someone respectable, someone who didn’t violate bunnies by rubbing them all over his washboard abs, then Ted would have enjoyed a rather pleasant night guiding his date through the series of questions he was keeping in his blazer pocket. They ranged from “how much can you bench” to “what are your opinions on the amount of freedom people get when choosing food on airplanes”. You know, the really saucy stuff.

“Okay. Might as well…yeah. What’s your profession – oh, no.” Ted shuffles the cards. “Are you a dog or a cat person?” Ted rolls his eyes and looks up at Miguel scathingly. “Given your most recent ad, I’d definitely say you were a dog person.”

“And given how Mrs. Higgins started driving all the way to Elmdale to let me treat her pets after one session with you, I’d say you were neither. And it’s an effort for her to get there, what with her –”

“Her arthritis, I know.”

Ted’s teeth are gritted again. He thinks they might be completely ground down by the end of the night. He meets Miguel’s eye again, and the darkness he sees there gives him that strange feeling of heat again. As he takes a long drink of beer, Ted wonders if he might just be able to make something out of this night. He knew he would hate himself in the morning – and the morning after that, for the record – but it’s been nearly a year since he last had sex. A whole _year._ It’s probably been about a week for Miguel, but Ted bets he thinks of a sexless week in the same way Ted thinks of a whole twelve-monthly dry spell.

They keep ordering shots, knocking them back like ammo for their next cutting remark, until Ted is almost swaying across the table to jab a finger into Miguel’s face.

“And – and I _still_ managed three surgeries that week. With a sprained ankle _and_ a fractured wrist.”

Miguel scoffs. “Clinical irresponsibility isn’t a joke, Ted,” he slurs, slapping a hand down onto the table. “If you were a good vet, you would’ve taken the week off.”

“And if _you_ were a good vet, you would’ve – mmph!”

Ted’s words are sharply cut off by Miguel dragging him forward and closing the distance between them with a kiss. It’s messy and terrible and regretfully perfect for the moment, so Ted leans in, knowing in the morning he’ll try and convince himself that he didn’t. But right now, he’s drunk enough to be stupid and he hasn’t had sex for a _year,_ so why not christen this already awful night in the bathroom of the Wobbly Elm?

Miguel seems to have the same idea. He takes Ted’s hand and pulls him towards the bathroom, pressing him into the door when it closes behind them.

“Miguel –”

But Miguel is kissing him again before he can continue, his hand brushing through the neatly combed hair on Ted’s head.

Ted wants to see if he can hang back for just a moment, then he might re-evaluate his life choices and get the hell out of here. But he’s too distracted by Miguel biting his bottom lip and shoving Ted’s jacket off his shoulders. He starts unbuttoning Miguel’s stupid shirt and stupid pants, bristling at the low chuckle it earns him.

“Eager, huh?” Miguel teases.

Ted shoots him a look. “Just shut up and _do_ me, Dr. Miguel.”

“Hm.” Miguel grabs Ted’s hips and grinds down against him, making him moan and hardening the length already growing in his jeans. “How d’you wanna do this, then?”

Ted grunts with impatience. “You talk too much. Figure out the specifics along the way.”

Following Ted’s instructions, Miguel unzips Ted’s jeans and pulls them and his underwear off in one movement. Neither of them have the patience for any foreplay right now. He reaches down to the ground and into his pocket and pulls out a mini packet of lube, slicking himself and his hand up before he reaches for Ted’s cock.

Ted calms down just a little at the feel of Miguel’s warm hand around him. He arches into the touch, his toes curling with pleasure, and runs out of time to think of another snark because Miguel’s mouth is back on his, kissing him hungrily and eagerly as he strokes his hand up and down.

“You know,” Ted manages through the head spinning sensation of Miguel’s hand on his cock and teeth on his neck, “I’m surprised you’re so – _God –_ up for it. You’d think being around all those animals all day would get you off.”

“Ugh, you’re insufferable,” Miguel says again, grinding down on Ted’s thigh, slotting himself in between them with a soft moan.

“Yeah, but I bet I could come quicker than you,” Ted says. “Wait, is that a good thing? I don’t know.”

“You can’t win at sex, Ted.”

Can’t win? Ted would show him.

“So what does it take for you to come, huh? Thinking about holding those poor little puppies up to your chest and – _fuck_ , taking your Page 3 nudes for the Elmdale Chronicle?”

Miguel groans low in Ted’s ear, thrusting faster between his thighs. “It's - a - typo! You’re just – jealous that I’m the best vet in the county.”

“Best? More like beastiali– _fuck!”_

Catching himself by surprise, Ted comes hard, white spots of light dancing in front of his eyes. While he’s not thrilled that Miguel – fucking _Miguel_ – was the one to break his dry spell…God, that was good. He looks into Miguel’s eyes, wondering if the stray thoughts he’d had during the sex about how Miguel really was hot still had any weight to them, but once again finds himself filling with cold rage and probably irrational anger now that the lust has passed. They clean up in silence, occasionally sharing embarrassed glances before they shove their clothes back on and look each other up and down.

“Right, uh…thanks for the drinks. And the – yeah.”

“Can we agree to never bring this up again?” Miguel says, and for the first time there’s a hint of camaraderie in his voice.

For once, they actually agree on something. “Oh, yeah. Never again,” Ted says.

And they never do.

They never, ever do.


End file.
